Mom?

Today marks 8 years since my mother died. Over the last four months I’ve loved her, missed her, hated her, loved her some more, and just wished I could talk with her. I’m glad she no longer suffers and I’m glad that she didn’t have to see me go through the things I’ve gone through the last couple of years. She would have been livid if she knew all the stuff her ex-son-in-law put her daughter through. I don’t think it’s possible to never need your mom again. I’ve wanted to ask her so many questions. I’ve written her a letter that she’ll never be able to see.

There are so many things I would talk to her about right now. With my eldest getting married in a few days, I’d start with apologizing for how I behaved when she was planning my wedding without my help. That would be where I start. But, if we had time to sit down over a cup of tea I think I’d go back to where things really went wrong. I’d ask her why she disappeared when I needed her the most. I’d ask her to explain what was going through her mind when her husband decided I shouldn’t keep my baby. I’d ask her how she could have possibly allowed me to let someone kill her first grandchild. I’d ask her where she went, after telling me that she’d help me anyway she could. I’d ask her why she wasn’t strong enough to stick up for me. I’d ask her why she put up with my dad. I’d ask her a lot of things.

I’ve forgiven her for most, if not all of it, but I still wonder why. I know my father was a difficult person to live with and one that you just never argued with. I don’t know what went on behind in private. I do know that I learned that I was to be subservient to my husband from him. And at the same time I never once doubted that both of my parents loved me.

It’s interesting, when I look back on it. My mother tried to tell me to love myself, but she was late on that. My father? He still lives and I’ve mostly forgiven him for many things yet I still want to know why. Why did he make me choose death? I’d like to understand what possessed him to think that it would be better. I know my mother knew, there’s no way that she couldn’t. I know she knew because she had already given birth to three babies. She knew what I was going to have to deal with. She insisted I get help, help I never got until this year.  My father, though? Did he not realize that forcing me to go through that would end up with me hating myself for the next 30 years? Did he realize that for all but the last three months that I truly believed that I was a murderer? How could a father choose to put his child through that?

Then, there’s the other side… If I talk to him will that open new wounds? Did he understand the implications and just think that he needed to make it happen anyways? Was he trying to protect me in his own way? There’s forgiveness there for him. Still part of me wants to know why. Why did you let your baby girl out of your sight? Where were you? Why didn’t you protect me? So many questions. No answers.

Questions I don’t really want answers to, not yet. Someday? Maybe. Maybe I’ll sit and talk with him on it one day. I haven’t yet, but I might. What would you do?

Thanks for reading,

me

 

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No More Silence – Finding Freedom

Let me tell you about my daughter. She’s about 27 years old now I think.  Her birthday may be coming up soon, I forget.  Regardless her age, she’s beautiful, she’s smart, intelligent, and full of life.  She got married a few years back and she has a beautiful baby girl and a boy who is about to turn 3.  She’s happier than she could ever be in her life right now.  Her soul has touched thousands since her conception.  She has had friends in grade school, high school and college and she even went on to get a master’s degree. I don’t know what it was in, though.  It doesn’t matter because she’s happy.  She’s in a good relationship with a great guy.  She helps make me the great mom that I am today.  I guess she learned a thing or two from me because I can see that she’s also being great with her own kids now.

When she was younger she had a few hobbies going.  I think she  really enjoyed running, climbing and being outdoors. She does like to be outdoors though, probably because her mother always made her go outside to play.  I always send my kids outside to play.  She’s pretty well-rounded… I know I’m a decent mom and I know that I have let her make some mistakes but I wouldn’t let her hurt herself too badly because we all learn from our mistakes. She loves staying home with her kids too.  I loved that too. I totally wanted to be with my children more than anything in the world. You couldn’t pay me enough money to make me work so that I would miss my children growing up.

My daughter is a huge part of who I am.  I loved her the moment I met her.  Her soul has marked so many.  Many have no idea that she’s even left her mark.  Her mark is on me, for this I am tremendously grateful… it is on her siblings, her father, and her grandparents too.  Sometimes her mark is a bit hard to see but that doesn’t mean its not there.  Her mark has been stamped on dozens, maybe even hundreds of people.  Her soul has touched at least that many and more.  The very fact that I have the honor of being her mother, even through all of my failures, I thank God for daily.  The fact that she has impacted more lives than she will ever know, I wish she could understand.

I would love to show her how her very existence is a blessing.  All women, children, all people, should know how very much they mean to those around them  All should have the opportunity to realize their own power.  As I wait and wonder, I can see her potential.  I want only to bless her in a way that allows her voice to be heard.  I want to help her become known for the beauty and the gift that she truly is.  I want others to see her as I see her.  I’m not blinded by love, I know she has her faults… I know that I do as well.  But I may be blinded by love after all… because I know that she has good too and that that goodness, that greatness, deserves to blossom.  I wish you could meet her,  my angel.  But you can not,  for her life was but a wisp in the wind.  Her impact,  global. She, and her brother,  have continued to live on despite the world’s forces to prevent their growth.  Their lives were but a breath of air,  their souls eternal. I miss them daily,  hourly at times…yet,  in their memory I live. I can see their impact,  feel their presence.  I know that I only see but a tiny spark of who they are,  who they could have been…I know,  though,  another thing… my love for them has never waned and so I want to celebrate them for who they were,  who they are, and who they continue to grow to be. They grew inside of me and were taken from me physically,  yet their souls joined forces with mine and together our souls have moved mountains.   The future holds so much possibility it is hard to imagine. To be understood, and to understand, are gifts that many have no idea how to give.

My children give me life.  All of them, some continue to breathe and some don’t but all of their beings are an integral part of who I am.  I have been silent for too long.  Silence kills.  It has been killing me years.  It has been preventing me from taking a stand, from helping another.  I have been angry and hurt, guilty and withdrawn.  These emotions have not empowered me.  They have caused me to stop myself.  The emotions have ruled for too long.  My choice now, to speak.  To truly speak what needs speaking and to do what needs doing… this choice is by far one of the most terrifying and most freeing choices I have ever made.  Life.  I want to breathe life into those who surround me.  I want those who know me to truly embrace their goodness, their love, their lives… their power.  There is no room for silence any longer.  Silence is a disguise, a shadow.  Silence prevents people from taking a stand for what they believe in.  Silence hides secrets… and secrets kill.  Secrets took the lives of my first two children… the secrets of rape, of abuse, of family, of fear… When a mother’s children are dying she screams for all the world to hear.  She fights for their lives.  She begs for mercy from God, from others… She finds the strength to do things no one ever thought was possible.  But if there are secrets… and silence… then there is death.  Stop the silence.  Scream.

me

Life and Death

I have always wondered about life and death.  I’ve considered both and what they mean.  Living?  is that Life?  Dying is that death?  I’d hazard a guess, no.  Just because your body is breathing and because your heart is beating and because your brain is performing functions, that’s not living.  And death?  Death is what people think of when all of those functions stop.  But my thoughts? no.

Living is when you get up in the morning and you cannot count your blessings because there are too many.  Living is when you are willing to be hurt in order to be happy.  Living is when you use your brain and your body and your heart and your lungs in order to dream, play and love and cry.  Living is when each and every day is a blessing, whether disguised or not.  Living is recognizing that you are in fact alive and not just a random robot performing predictable, habitual activities every moment of every day.  Living is thinking outside of the box, trying new things, loving even when it hurts.  Living is caring so much that you feel powerless.  But living is Not powerless.  That would by dying.  Living is full of power.  The power of knowing emotions that have so many names that you never say your “OK” anymore.  You feel what you feel.  You feel anger and hope, love and despair, excited and bored.  Living is knowing that pain actually has its place and doesn’t have to be avoided.  Living is learning new things.  Living is the power to make life meaningful.

Dying on the other hand is quite different and more common than living.  The person who gets up in the morning, drives to work, works all day, drives home… only to sit in front of a TV and then go to bed and do it all again… So many people have no life at all.  These are the dying.  These people have given up on living, it was too much work.  These are the people who grow “old”.  Or think they are old at 30, 40, 60, even 80.  These do not realize that life has opportunity, even as we age.  Dying is waiting until some future that never comes before doing something you love.  Dying is giving up on being healthy.  Dying is never trying to excel anymore.  Dying is pessimistic, vile, and ugly.  Dying is accepting the fate of the doctors rather than fighting for life.  Dying is sitting in the dark waiting for sleep to come, wondering why you even bother anymore.  Dying is giving up.

I found myself dying.  I had just the tiniest spark of life left in me.  When I left my house for a time, a weekend away… that spark would ignite again.  But just as soon as I returned the spark would nearly vanish.  This scenario repeated over the years until I started to feed the spark inside more.  This tiny little spark of life, of hope finally began to flame.  The fire inside of me grew over the next several years, scorching the despair, scorching the cobwebs in my brain.  This fire grew and grew until I was finally able to break loose of my chains.  Chains that wanted to drown me.

The hard thing about living is that living has extremes.  Living has hate and love, fear and peace.  Living hurts.  Living allows pain to have its place, but with pain comes happiness.  Living is hard.  It’s easier to ignore your feelings, it’s easier to stay with the devil you know.  Living is scary, too.  Living means going into the unknown and trusting that it won’t at least be worse than what you do know.  It means trusting that there is a chance now for something better.  Living has hope.  Living means you allow yourself to be vulnerable.  So many who are dying have built fortresses around themselves in the hopes they would never feel again.  But I learned something today.  I learned that those fortresses don’t stop the feelings they just don’t let you define them.  Instead of feeling the pain you feel tired.  Instead of hope you quit before you start.  Instead of being vulnerable you feel lonely.

I enjoyed my fortress that I had built.  I enjoyed it so much that I protected it, guarded it.  I let no one know who I was.  I refused to allow the slightest hint of vulnerability.  Now, though, with my vulnerability I feel fragile.  My walls are but crumbles of ruins now.  My feelings are so many I cannot even count them.  In a single day I may feel sad, happy, angry, lonely, scared, tired, exasperated, love, hope, despair, loneliness, pride, peace, and even hate.  Being alive means feeling the extremes and accepting that they will pass and return again.  It’s hard, it’s scary, it’s wonderful and it’s worth it.

Are you alive or are you no more than a robot pretending to be alive?  Are you willing to take the chance again?  Are you willing to let your walls down?  Allow the possibility of peace and love and adventure again?  Yes, you might get hurt but pain is so much better than nothing at all.  Are you willing to trust yourself like a child does?  Children are the best at being alive.  Be like a child and trust your heart again.  We adults trust our brains too much.  Your heart will not lead you astray.  It may lead you to things you’ve never thought of before, it may lead you down roads you’ve been scared to go… but it will always lead you in the direction you should go.  Is it easy? No.  Is it worth it? Absolutely.

Thank you for reading,

me